Rain
by Tarma Hartley
Summary: Detective Jowd hates rain for it brings back memories of a tragedy... CabanOwd


_A/N: I do not own Inspector Cabanela or Detective Jowd; they belong to CAPCOM. However, the plot is mine._

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_Detective Jowd hates rain. This is why._

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A CabanOwd tragedy fic that I started writing two years ago that had some editing done. I really need to organize my fanfiction folder on my computer...

Anyway, hope you enjoy!

**Thanks** to my readers and all those who have favourited, reviewed, story alerted, favourite author or author alerted me. I appreciate it more than I can say! :)

**Thank you** to Midnight-hunter for beta reading some of this fic! Much appreciated! :)

**Special thanks** to my beloved husband, DezoPenguin, for all his help, support, advice, nagging (when necessary), for helping me out of a plot hole I'd written myself into which turned it into a fresh, new direction and encouragement! I appreciate it more than I can say! Love you!

Comments are appreciated and welcome! :) I'll probably change some things at some point; always room for improvement! :)

Rated T, male/male relationships, tragedy, CabanOwd [Inspector Cabanela x Detective Jowd]

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_August 26th  
Marke Mayer Hospital  
ICU  
11:15 A.M._

I sat motionless in the chair beside the bed, my head in my hands, my fingers trembling with a multitude of emotions that I was desperately trying to suppress. I could hear the labored, rasping breathing coming from the bed which told me, at least for now, that _he _was alive, my heart constricting within me as I heard the awful sound of someone struggling to breathe. I _knew _what _that _meant... and it _wasn't_ good.

_Damn you, Cabanela! What were you thinking, charging in there like that?! _I pressed my hands closer to my face, fighting desperately to hold back the tears I could feel welling up in my eyes. _Was it worth it? Was you getting shot and, more likely than not, losing your life, really worth it? _I swallowed hard. _Am I worth losing your life?_

I couldn't even look at him, lying there helpless and ominously still with only enough strength to keep breathing. I felt mingled anger and guilt over my in ability to look at him at this point; anger because he'd, in my opinion, acted like a fool intercepting those bullets and saving my life and guilt because I felt angry at him for doing so. I knew that he loved me but I couldn't help wishing that it was_ me,_ and not _him,_ lying there in that hospital bed.

The rain pounded against the windows in the hospital emergency room as I remembered how frantically the ER trauma team had worked to try and save his life with a determination that was as cold and foreboding as the day outside and the looks on their faces when, six hours later, they'd wheeled him out of the operating room and into his room in the ICU.

The head surgeon met me in the waiting room, where I'd been pacing up and down for the better part of the last two hours. I looked up, my face twisted with worry, grief and pain as I saw him stop in front of me, pulling the surgical mask off of his face, his mouth set in a grim line. My heart fell in the direction of my feet as I stood there mute, his slate-grey eyes sympathetic even though the look on his face said to prepare for the worst.

"Is... he...?" I stammered, feeling my hands begin to tremble, the corners of my mouth twitching as I tried desperately to fight down the panic that I could feel beginning to rise in me.

He shook his head.

"Not yet but he's sustained a lot of internal damage and I'm not certain whether or not he's going to pull through." He sighed. "It doesn't look good, I can tell you that much right now. In my _medical_ opinion, there's a 90 percent chance that he won't make it but... we'll have to wait and see."

_Ninety percent chance... It doesn't look good... We'll have to wait and see... In my medical opinion... _These phrases raced through my mind at a frenetic pace and I couldn't control the trembling of my hands which had started to shake uncontrollably. The surgeon grabbed my upper arm and quickly guided me to a chair which was fortunate since I fell onto it, my legs no longer able to support me.

All I knew is that I faced losing the one man I loved most in this world... and for what? He'd intercepted a bullet that had been meant for me and the very thought that he would lose his life saving mine filled me with anguish.

_Why? _I kept thinking, my thoughts racing after one another in a whirlwind that left me feeling dizzy. _Was I so important to you that you would risk your life for mine? _I choked back a sob. _What did I ever do to deserve that?!_

With sympathy wreathed on his face, the surgeon gently took my arm and guided me to the ICU unit and the room where Cabanela was fighting for his life. I suppose that he had had a lot of experience in dealing with these kinds of situations and, even though I couldn't express it properly at the time, his kindness and gentle handling were _much _appreciated as I sank down helplessly into the chair that had been placed by the bed, my head in my hands, my heart aching and my thoughts whirling over one another.

_Don't leave me,_ I silently begged the still form lying on the bed, the hiss of the respirator filling the room with a harsh, grating sound._ Please... don't leave me! I need you!_

**~X-x-X~**

_5:15 P.M._

I didn't know at what point the surgeon left since I was in too much emotional pain to notice or even care. I don't even know how I managed to get back to Cabanela's room in the ICU; it's all a blur even after all this time. In my nightmares from that day on, I could hear the raspy, ragged breathing from Cabanela on the bed next to me, see his pale, grimacing face struggling to breathe from the multiple gun shot wounds in his chest.

I closed my eyes but even _that _wasn't enough to drown out the terrible sounds that I heard. I couldn't suppress a shudder that rippled through my body from my head to my feet, breaking out into a cold sweat as it did so. I had to bite my lip to avoid from crying out as I heard him struggling to breathe. I knew that one of the bullets must have hit a lung and I knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that that was definitely bad news.

They'd managed to repair the hole in his lung, as the surgeon told me later, but it was still touch and go and only time could properly heal the wound... time that Cabanela probably _didn't_ have.

It seemed damnably unfair to me that this wonderful man of mine could be cut down in his prime and the one who'd shot him managed to escape without injury. I didn't know where he had gone but Lynne took off after him in hot pursuit while I raced over to my fallen partner, knelt down, put my arms gently underneath his head and lifted him, lying his head on my knee, trying to staunch the blood as much as I could while another officer dialed 911.

My mind drifted back to the terrible events of the morning, Cabanela's ragged breathing providing a horrible background... and it was raining on the day we laid him to rest a few days later.

I stood there at the foot of his grave, staring numbly at the headstone carved with his name and the dates of his birth and death, my heart torn in pieces. I laid the bouquet of flowers at the foot of the headstone, my heart with the man who lay there, cold and silent. I stood there for some time, the slate-grey sky darkening above me.

I winced when I felt the first raindrop strike me and, with one last look, I turned and slowly started to walk away. I hunched my shoulders and shoved my hands deep in my pockets as I made my way out of the cemetery.

I hated rain.

**~FIN~**


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